Staying Warm
by Verdreht
Summary: It's snowing outside and Zoro says something weird. When said swordsman doesn't show up for dinner that night, Sanji decides to pay him a visit in the crowsnest. He wants answers...he might get more than he bargained for. ZoSan Nothing explicit (yet)
1. Chapter 1

He was putting the finishing touches on some ohagi to tide the crew – namely Luffy – over until dinner, and he heard the door open. Without looking, he knew who it was from the slow, deep sounds of boots hitting the wood. He knew that sound almost as well as he knew the sound of his own heartbeat.

It didn't hurt that he could hear them making their way to where he kept the liquor.

"Touch the sake, and you're missing dinner," he said.

"I didn't come for the sake, stupid cook."

Sanji bristled. It'd been a long day, what with those thugs back in town trying to lay their filthy hands on Robin and Nami. Naturally, he, being the gentleman he was – and okay, Zoro may have helped _some_ – he had taken it upon himself to protect the lovely ladies from those snow-driving cretins. In the madness, he'd gotten covered in the snow that was still falling steadily outside, he'd been punched, and the damn swordsman had gotten blood on his new jacket.

And now, that troublesome swordsman had to come into _his_ territory and insult him? Well, fine. He still had some steam to blow off.

Whirling around, he brought his leg up with every intention of driving a kick into that hard green head of Zoro's. Only, at the last second, he realized the damn marimo wasn't even making any attempt to block it. The kick was aimed straight at the moron's face; nuisance or not, he didn't want to _break_ the guy.

He stopped short, leg still raised should he change his mind, and scowled at the moron. "Oi, what's your problem, moron?" he shouted. Frankly, he was a little disappointed when Zoro didn't wince; he was no more than two feet in front of him. "I could've snapped your—!"

"You're kind of beautiful when you're angry."

Sanji lost the rest of whatever it was he was about to say to a sort of undignified sputtering that ended in something that sounded a lot like, "What?"

But Zoro was already on his way out. With casual steps, the same thud of his boots, like he hadn't a care in the world, he made his way out the door.

With a bottle of sake in his hand.

Part of Sanji commanded him to go after him, to beat that damn marimo down and make him explain where the _hell_ he got off saying things like that. Was he just trying to throw Sanji off? Mess with him so he could sneak out with his booze unscathed? Sanji didn't know why he'd bother; it wasn't like he'd ever really stopped Zoro from getting a drink in the past. Sure, he gave him grief for it, and sometimes he'd make him take the shit stuff instead of the good stuff, but he never really outright refused him.

Unless the swordsman had pissed him off, but that was a different story. That was his right as a cook.

Frowning, Sanji went back to the ohagi. He'd chalk Zoro's behavior up to the swordsman being touched in the head, and he'd leave it like that. Anything else, and he probably _would_ go hunt that marimo bastard down. Now, it was just Zoro being weird. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still…

That didn't explain the weird feeling in his chest or the heat on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

That strange feeling lingered stubbornly the rest of the day, until, come dinnertime, Sanji had made up his mind to confront the bastard. How, he didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know what he'd say. He just – he needed an explanation.

He didn't get one.

Dinner came and went. Luffy and Usopp hurled into the place like their own tropical storms, sucking up everything in their path. Nami and Robin, ever their beautiful and dignified selves, made their usual polite conversation around the dinner table, even complimenting Sanji's food. Normally, such a thing would've been the highlight of his night.

Tonight, though…

_Damn it, marimo, where'd you get off to?_ It wasn't like Zoro to miss a meal. It did occur to Sanji that maybe the swordsman was avoiding him, but that just didn't seem like Zoro's style. He hadn't looked nervous or upset when he'd said…_that_. He'd just been his usual lazy, casual self, like he hadn't a care in the world, walking in and walking out just like that.

Well, Sanji decided, even if the moron was avoiding him, he wasn't going to let him. He waited until the others had turned in for the night, and armed with a bag and his own thick coat, he headed out of the kitchen. Zoro had watch that night, so he figured he would be up in the crows nest.

Sure enough, as he reached the top of the ladder with the food hanging from his shoulder in a bag, he caught sight of the telltale black boots hanging just a little over the edge. He'd found Zoro.

His pulse quickened.

"Oi, dumbass, you missed dinner," Sanji said by way of greeting as he poked his head up into the nest.

Zoro opened his eyes – Sanji should've known he'd be napping – and raised one green brow curiously. "What're you doing?"

"I just told you," Sanji snapped irately. "You missed dinner." A dinner which was presently giving him more trouble than it should've been, trying to haul it up into the crows nest.

He was trying to muscle the bag up ahead of him when, to his surprise, he felt something solid close around his wrist. Without warning, he was being pulled up, and no sooner did he get his feet under him than he found himself face to red-nosed face with the moss-head himself.

_He looks…cold_.

The thought passed through Sanji's head of its own volition, but he didn't disagree. Zoro was wearing the clothes he'd seen him in that morning, and his black long-sleeve shirt didn't appear to be doing much to keep the cold out. He wasn't shivering, but his face was windblown, his whole body rigid, and the hand around Sanji's wrist was like ice.

It occurred to Sanji right about then that Zoro _was_ still holding his wrist.

His heart gave a thud.

"Hey, shit cook, what're you staring at?"

Sanji snapped out of his momentary daze to see Zoro regarding him with a mix of curiosity and boredom. He felt his face heat up, and reflexively wrenched his arm free. "It's definitely not you, idiot swordsman!"

_Smooth. Very smooth. _

Rather than smarting off – Sanji definitely left him a big enough opening for it – Zoro just let out a sigh that turned to fog and curled away in the air. "Whatever," he said, and slipping his hands in his pockets, he walked back over to the wall he'd presumably been leaning against and slid back down.

Sanji blinked. Normally the swordsman couldn't wait to bite his head off. Any other day, they'd have been trading blows by now. But no, Zoro had just brushed him off like he was nothing and sat back down.

That bastard.

But then, thinking about it, he didn't look like he was trying to be rude. He just looked…tired. Tired and cold, and Sanji could see the edges of a bandage peeking out from under his left sleeve where he'd been cut on the arm earlier that day. Sanji bet it was sore. Tired, cold, and sore…it was a state Sanji wouldn't wish on anyone.

Especially not Zoro.

No, he realized. Zoro, he wanted to be unhappy least of all. Seeing him now, feeling how he felt, Sanji understood his strange reaction to the swordsman's words. The beating of his heart, the heat on his face….

He smiled a little to himself, and with a soft chuckle, he turned and slid down next to Zoro. "I figured you'd be hungry," he began as he opened the bag and sorted through its contents. "I brought you some soup." As he spoke, he pulled the thermos from the bag and handed it to Zoro.

Zoro hesitated, as if he wasn't sure how to take Sanji's shift in behavior, but after a moment, he reached for the thermos.

There was no missing the wince that flashed across his face, no matter how slight it was, and Sanji pulled the offered soup back just before Zoro could close his bandaged fingers around it.

"Hey, what—"

But before Zoro could finish his protest, Sanji twisted the lid off the thermos and smoothly poured some of the soup out. This time when he held it out, he did so with the instruction, "Take it with your other hand, moron. This soup's too good for you to drop it." He'd made it especially for the swordsman, all his favorite spices to help warm him up with some cayenne to keep his blood circulating, noodles and meat. It was steaming hot, and—

And that moron took a big ass swig of it.

Not surprisingly, his green eyes widened the moment the stuff touched his tongue. He did have the wisdom not to spit it out – no matter his feelings towards the swordsman, Sanji would've been _pissed_ – but he promptly sucked in some of the cool night air to try to cool the burn.

"It's hot, idiot," Sanji remarked, but he was smiling as he said it.

Zoro turned to glare at him, his abused tongue still sticking comically out. "No thit," he grumbled, though Sanji noticed he wasn't _too _hesitant to go for another sip.

Sanji stopped him before he could put the cup to his lips, and Zoro watched with an expression akin to shock as Sanji leaned over and blew lightly on the soup. Satisfied, he leaned back. "Try not to burn your mouth off this time, huh?"

The bob of Zoro's Adam's apple as he swallowed was visible even in the sparse light of the moon. "Yeah," he said, and unless Sanji was mistaken, his voice sounded a little hoarse. With eyes still wide, he took another sip of the soup, and Sanji was pleased to see this time, it didn't end in a wince.

Silence fell between them after that, as Zoro polished off the rest of the soup Sanji had brought him. Sanji was pleased to see some of the color returning to his face, as if merely the warm soup had been enough to revive him somewhat.

Still, he didn't look _warm_ yet. There was still that tension rippling beneath the surface of his skin, not _quite_ a shiver, but close enough that Sanji reached over to his bag and, after a little bit of fishing, came back up with a blanket.

"Here," he said, holding it out to the swordsman. "You shouldn't be out here in just that jacket." The thick blanket would hopefully ward off the cold attacking from the outsides, and Sanji was satisfied that his soup had expelled that inside. It was an attack on all fronts, necessary if he wanted to keep the swordsman from freezing up in the crows nest.

As Zoro took the blanket, Sanji busied himself closing up the now-empty soup container and stowing it back in the bag. He'd brought something else he'd managed to save from the black hole that was their captain's mouth.

However, just as he was pulling it from the bag, he felt something warm and heavy drape around his shoulders. He straightened up, looking to see the culprit, only to find Zoro had spread the blanket over the both of them.

"I brought that for you, you know," Sanji said.

Zoro shrugged. "You looked cold. No problem with us both staying warm."

"Who said I was staying?"

Again, Zoro shrugged and gave no other response. Then again, no other response was needed. Sanji had no intention of going anywhere and leaving the swordsman by himself in the snow. It wasn't like he hadn't done it before, but there was just something…different about it.

Sighing and watching as his breath condensed in the air, Sanji opened the container he'd brought. The smell of sweet bean paste wafted from the small box, and Sanji held out the ohagi for Zoro to take one.

The smile that pulled at the corners of Zoro's lips did something strange to Sanji's heart. It was no secret that Zoro was fond of sweet rice and bean paste. For all his complexities, deep down, he was just a simple man with simple tastes.

Sanji found that quality oddly attractive in him.

"What's with all this, cook?" Zoro asked around a mouthful of the sticky rice snack. Apparently, they were to his liking, because he polished off the first and was reaching back into the box for seconds. Sanji was glad he'd thought to set aside the full dozen.

He arched a single curled brow. "All what?"

Zoro waved the ohagi demonstratively. "_This_," he said. "You're spoiling me."

Feeling color rise to his cheeks, Sanji shrugged. "It's a nasty night; I didn't want you to freeze out here." He trailed off. "What?"

Zoro was looking at him oddly, a smirk played out across his lips and a spark in his eyes. "You're blushing," he said. "It's…cute."

Sanji nearly choked on his own spit. "What?"

"You heard me, love cook."

That was true; Sanji _had_ heard him. He just couldn't get his head around him. "What's with you?" he said. "All that stuff you keep saying. Why?"

"Why not?"

Sanji scowled. "That's not an answer."

"It's not the answer you were looking for," Zoro corrected. At Sanji's glower, though, he rolled his eyes. "I say it because it's true, moron. You're beautiful when you're angry and cute when you blush. You're gorgeous when you cook, sexy when you fight."

The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, just left Sanji even more confused. "Why, though? Why are you saying it, now?"

Zoro let out a sigh. "Beats the hell out of me," he said. "Maybe I just got tired of seeing you drool after Nami like a lovesick puppy. You're too good for that." He took another bite of ohagi and chewed thoughtfully. "If I had my way, you'd know that."

Saying that, Zoro hadn't even looked over. It was a good thing he hadn't, too, Sanji decided.

It would've been really embarrassing if that damn marimo had seen him cry.

"Too good for that," Zoro had said. He'd called him beautiful, gorgeous, sexy…he'd said all those things like it was fact, like it was some obvious thing that Sanji should've already known. And yet…it was the first time Sanji had ever heard it. Sure, people had called him sexy, beautiful even, but they…they didn't mean it. They didn't know him; it was shallow. But Zoro wasn't like that. He didn't give empty compliments – he didn't give _compliments_. For someone like Zoro, for someone as _amazing_ as Zoro, to say something like that….

Without another thought, without doubting himself or wondering what the hell he was doing, Sanji leaned over and kissed Zoro. Given the direction the man was looking, it was just his cheek, but Sanji's heart was still thundering in his chest, even from something so _schoolboy_.

It only intensified as Zoro turned to look at him, eyes wide and jaw slack. Had he just—Sanji had just—had he…?

But as quickly as the expression rose, it was replaced by that trademark crooked grin and a look in those eyes that sent a shiver down Sanji's spine. One of Zoro's hands slipped around behind him to his waist, pulling him flush against him, while the other cupped his cheek. And this time when they kissed, lips meant firm, chapped lips.

Sanji had never felt anything like it. Heat exploded in his chest despite the cold outside, and the taste…there was the lingering sweetness of the ohagi, the bite of the sake that had once occupied the half-empty bottle on Zoro's other side, but beneath it all, there was a taste so distinctly _Zoro_…for all his culinary successes, Sanji knew he could never hope to replicate that taste. He just had to savor it, relish it…

When they parted, it was too soon. Still, Sanji could feel the tingling heat in his chest, and he could still taste him on his tongue.

He wanted more.

As Zoro went to pull the blanket back around them, Sanji stopped him. Donning a smirk of his own, he swung his leg over Zoro's and straddled his lap. "You know," he said, his breath forming a cloud between his face and Zoro's, "I can think of other ways of staying warm."


End file.
